


Pieces

by Mistress_of_Squirrels



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Blood, Child Abuse, Drug Use, Rape, Sexual Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, Violence, major trigger warnings, nonconsensual drug use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-06-01 02:54:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6498001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mistress_of_Squirrels/pseuds/Mistress_of_Squirrels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A companion story to Kindred that features snapshots of Ying’s background.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> This fic discusses several triggers. I've added them in the tags, and I'll add them here, because I really cannot stress this enough. 
> 
> The story features sensitive subjects such as child abuse, sexual abuse, rape, mental illness, nonconsensual drug use, alcoholism…seriously, the entire thing is one big trigger. This can be considered separate from Kindred, so it’s not necessary to read this. There’s nothing very graphic, but if any of the above will cause you distress, please skip this one.

_“I felt a Cleaving in my Mind—_  
_As if my Brain had split—_  
_I tried to match it—Seam by Seam—_  
_But could not make it fit.”_

-Emily Dickinson, The Complete Poems

 

The heavy canvas of the field tent offered little protection from the cold damp of late fall, but at least it kept out of most of the rain. She huddled beneath a tattered, threadbare blanket as she waited for her father to return from another round of questions. They always had questions, and they asked the same ones over and over, never satisfied with the answers.  A shiver that had nothing to do with the cold ran up her spine; she hoped they would not come for her next.

Movement flashed in the corner of her eye and she looked up to see a man approaching. She swallowed hard as she met his eyes, and then quickly dropped her gaze. He was the one in charge here, and she was certain he was coming to take her away to that little room with the bright lights and cold metal chair.

She drew her knees to her chest and curled around them in an effort to make herself appear smaller, clinging to the vain hope that he wouldn’t see her. Black boots suddenly filled her vision as an imposing shadow fell over her. Her heart hammered in her chest as she ducked her head, careful not to look up. They didn’t like it when she looked at them.

The man said something too fast for her to understand. She could make sense of the guttural syllables now, but it took time to arrange the garbled sounds into words. Panic seized her – they didn’t like when she took too long to respond – so she risked a glance at his face. The leer that twisted his lips needed no translation. She’d seen that look before, had an idea of what it meant, but never had it been directed at her.

The man showed an unusual amount of patience as he repeated himself, and this time she heard the words they’d given her.

“022.”

It wasn’t _her_ name, but it was all she was allowed in this place of wire-wrapped fences and dirt floors.

She lifted her head to show that she heard, but she could not bring herself to meet his gaze again. There was a touch beneath her chin, a firm pressure that tilted her head back, and her eyes flicked to his face without her consent. The man smiled and her skinny arms broke out in goosebumps.

“There we go, sweetheart. Come on, now, I don’t bite.”

His thumb stroked her cheekbone and she cringed. His touch was gentle, but the sick dread in the pit of her stomach told her it was wrong. His nostrils flared, but his smile never wavered as he slid his hand to her hair, blunt fingers combing through the tangled, dirty strands. Her mouth went dry as she pressed her hands together in her lap to still their anxious tremble.

He said something else, but she couldn’t hear past the roar of blood in her ears, and then he brought his mouth close to hers. She turned her head as his sour breath wafted over her, and then gasped as pain flared at the nape of her neck. His fingers dug into her skin like iron claws and her eyes watered from a sudden, sharp tug to her hair. As she tilted her head back to relieve the awful tension, his mouth covered hers. She choked back the bitter taste of bile, and all she could think of was the dull thud of a nightstick as it impacted with flesh, the split second of numb shock before the deep ache hit and spread like fire through muscle and bone.

He’d be very upset if she threw up on him.

His hand slid to her jaw, steady, insistent, until he forced her mouth open and slid his tongue inside. She froze in terror as he pulled the zipper of her jumpsuit, slipping his free hand beneath the fabric and gliding it across her chest. She squeezed her eyes shut, body rigid as she tried to hold back a tremor of fear. If she could just empty her mind, maybe she could find that place she sometimes went when bad things happened. It was hazy and dark, and she felt lost in her own skin, but she wasn’t _real_ when she was there. If she wasn’t real, then this couldn’t be either. None of this was actually happening.  

Something closed around her arm and yanked with enough force to send her stumbling back. A soft cry of pain escaped her as she landed hard on her hip and struggled to catch her breath, not understanding what had happened. The guard had a hand cupped over his nose and mouth, crimson streaming from between his splayed fingers and dribbling down his chin. Before she had time to wonder at that, her father’s face was swimming before her eyes. He took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze as he helped her to her feet, his face harder than she’d ever seen as he said her name, her _real_ name. Her knees shook at the urgency in his voice.

“Ying-hua, run! Go. Now!”

She wanted to, but there was no where to run _to_ , even if her feet would have obeyed her silent command. The walls were too high, it was impossible to hide from the sweep of the spotlights, and robots and turrets stood sentry where their human counterparts could not. She could run, but there was no escape.

The guard stood slowly, face twisted in rage as he spat a mouthful of blood in the dirt. He yelled something, quick and harsh, the menacing bark of a dog about to attack, and then drew his baton and swung it at her father’s head. He dodged the blow and countered with a kick that had the other man doubling over with a grunt, but she knew it would not be enough. Already, she could hear the pounding of footsteps coming their way. Three more soldiers joined their comrade, and though he held his own for a time, her father was no match for their combined assault.

Tears streaked the grime on her face as he crumpled beneath the force of their blows. Horror held her fast in its grip as his movements became weaker and less coordinated, until at last he was still. The first man watched her, eyes lit with triumph as he barked an order, hand held out. Someone placed a pistol in his open palm, and her world shattered into a thousand tiny shards as he took aim at her father’s head and fired two quick shots.

An inhuman sound rang out, a single word shrieked over and over until it echoed in her ears and pounded at her skull.

“Bàba!”

She didn’t realize she was the one screaming until a hand collided with her cheek in a stinging slap that stunned her into silence. The others had left, she noticed, bringing a shaking hand to her face. Only the first remained and he was smiling again. He grabbed her, fingers closing like a vice around her slender wrist,  and pulled her to him.

“Now then, sweetheart. Where were we?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It took a long time to recognize the black withered thing that clawed at her heart and chewed at her guts. It was dark and cold; the kind of cold that burned, and it scared her. She tried to hold it back, but it grew and spread like gangrenous rot, until she feared there would be nothing of her left. It was impossible to say just what had snapped the last flimsy thread that held it in check, but she felt it like a physical blow. That thing inside uncoiled and sprang, sweeping her away with the fury of a hurricane.

Like a caged animal, she lashed out with teeth and nails and flailing limbs. She didn’t feel the beating she received until later, when the red faded from her vision and the wild, wounded thing retreated, but it was worth the fresh cuts and bruises just to step out from beneath the heavy shroud of fear.

After that, most of the men decided she wasn’t worth the trouble. Except for _him_. He seemed to enjoy her sudden shift to violence, taking it as a personal challenge. No matter what she came up with, he was always one step ahead of her.

He no longer carried a baton when he came for her, having traded it for something smaller but far more potent. A slight sting at her neck or the crook of her arm, a rush of warmth, and all the fight drained from her as euphoria sang in her veins. She struggled, useless as her efforts were – whatever had been unleashed would allow no less - but it was like trying to kick her way to the surface of a deep pool while her legs were weighted with lead.

He grunted above her and collapsed, boneless, his head pressed against her shoulder. She turned her face away, a dreamy smile curving her lips at the bloody images that peeked through the fog filling her head. Idle daydreams of escape, impotent fantasies of revenge, but they helped pass the time.

He grasped her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Something funny?”

She hummed, smile widening as bleary eyes tried to focus. Her words were slow and syrupy as she took special care to enunciate each foreign syllable. “I am going to kill you one day.”

A moment of silence, and then he chuckled, giving her cheek a rough pat. “We’ll see, sweetheart. We’ll see.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It wasn’t long before she found herself craving the bright burst of ecstasy that took her away from it all, and any resistance after that was just for show.

When she wasn’t soaring, she was sinking, an endless fall into a bottomless pit of loathing. She hated him, but he was the only one who could quiet the screaming in her head and still the shaking of her hands. Angering him was to invite long nights of sweating and shivering as cramps twisted her insides and vomit streaked her chin. There was a choice- he always offered a choice – and she always made the same one. It was weak, but she couldn’t resist the temptation of relief. She hated him; she hated herself more. It festered and hollowed until her skin felt as thin as the fragile shell of an egg, but it never altered her decision. They both knew her defiance was just an act; in the end, she always chose him.

Time lost all meaning. Minutes blurred into hours that became days and so on, until her entire existence narrowed to a series of dizzying highs and lows so deep she lost hope of ever finding her way out of the abyss. The chemical chains that bound her to him pulled tighter, and she knew there was only one way she’d ever break free.

“Kill me and be done with it.”

He pulled a knife from his belt, her eyes following the blade in longing as he held it in front of her. Seven inches of gleaming steel that tapered to a lethal point. _Freedom_.

His lips curled into a grin as he brought the tip up to rest at the hollow of her throat. “Is that what you want?”

He dragged the blade lightly down her chest and shook his head as he pulled it away. His hand cupped her cheek in a twisted mockery of affection as he leaned in, lips brushing her ear. “You’re _mine_ , sweetheart. Don’t think you’re getting away that easy.”

For the first time since her father was beaten and shot to death in front of her, she cried.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

She sank further, floating in that numb, dark corner of her mind more often than not. He did not appreciate her apathy. She came back – she always come back, but it didn’t stop him from illustrating his displeasure in vivid blues and purples across the canvas of her flesh.

The more he beat her, the more she drifted, only dimly aware that this passivity frustrated him far more than any of her previous futile attempts to fight back. She didn’t truly understand the connection until the day she snapped back to herself with an ache in her jaw and blood dripping from where his fist had split her lip.

She blinked in confusion, unable to comprehend what had got him to such a state. He struck her again, flipping her roughly onto her back. He pumped his hand over himself a few times, his face a mask of concentration that quickly broke into a black scowl as he shoved off of her.

And suddenly, she understood: he couldn’t play with broken toys.

Some forgotten emotion bubbled up in her and poured from her lips, the irony too sweet to contain. He spun around, fast as a striking snake, his face flushed red, clenched fists trembling in fury. That twisted part of her stirred to life as she met his eyes and grinned, watching in growing triumph as the tattered reigns of control slipped from his grasp.

It didn’t matter how unintentional this victory was. Power had shifted, however temporarily, and they both knew it. There was no going back.

He was on her in an instant, slamming her head back hard enough to make her see stars as his hand fisted in her hair. “Laugh all you want, you little bitch. I’ll carve that smirk into your face.”

She didn’t try to resist - she didn’t need to. If he killed her, he set her free. If he didn’t, she had this single victory to look back on. She won, either way, and nothing he did now could change that.

Something glinted in the corner of her vision, and then she saw the flash of his knife as it slashed across her face.  Her mouth filled with copper as fire streaked across her cheeks. She turned her head, all she could move with his heavy weight on her chest, but it wasn’t enough to escape the searing agony. Blood, thick and hot, clogged her throat, choking her. The last sound she heard as everything went black was her own unhinged laughter ringing in her ears.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Her wounds healed, leaving behind a twisted mass of gnarled scars that evoked mixed feelings of both pride and shame. She might have been pretty once. Her father had always said she looked like her mother, but there was little resemblance to her fuzzy memories of that woman now. She vaguely remembered that her mother’s mouth had been kind. Hers was warped into a permanent snarl by thick bands of shiny purple tissue – there was nothing kind about it.

If they were a sign of what was lost, her scars also served as a constant reminder of _him_. Over the years, she’d built him up to something akin to a god. Her reflection proved otherwise. He’d shattered that image when he lost control, revealing the man beneath, as human and vulnerable as anyone else. He bled like any of them, and one way or another, she’d have buckets from him by the time she was through.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Communication among the detainees wasn’t easy. The guards didn’t like them getting too close and there were harsh consequences for getting caught speaking in their native tongue. It didn’t stop it from happening, though; there were ways around anything if one was willing to look hard enough. She didn’t talk to the others much, but she listened, and when whispers of rebellion reached her ears, she did so with rapt attention.

At first, they were nothing more than idle fancy, but they gained substance as their numbers dwindled. With each new corpse in the morgue, each brutal death or maiming of a brother, a sister, a parent, or a child, the whispers grew a bit louder.

She must have planned it out a hundred times in her head, back when she used to dream of such things. Back then, it would have been impossible for one person to pull off alone. With all of them working together, escape was within their reach. She wasn’t a leader. She could never rally the others, but she was perceptive enough to see who _could_ fill that role.

They called him 014. He must have had a name, but he never mentioned it, or anything about the life he had before. She suspected he’d been military by the way he carried himself, an easy confidence that not even his time here had managed to diminish. She’d seen the same in her father, and in the guards, though it often bordered on arrogance with them. He wasn’t timid like so many of the others, but he had enough humility to keep from drawing attention to himself. This was a man that could command respect, if he chose to; if he would stand, the rest would follow.  

It was difficult to find a place they could talk, and it was harder still to get him to take her seriously, but eventually, she convinced him to hear her out. Tentative plans were laid, and he left her with the promise to find others willing to take the chance at freedom. The next time they met, he gave her the designations of three others. Two more the time after that.

The following weeks were a flurry of secret meetings and hidden messages as they finalized the details. In total, they were nine of them, each with a different part to play. Hers was risky, but because of _his_ obsession with her, she was the only one who had a shot at pulling it off.

She checked the tear in her mattress every night during the shift change before lights out, feeling for the cool glass of a syringe. Tonight, it was there. Her eyes sought 014’s across the tent and she received a slight nod in return. She grinned, and slid the syringe into her pocket. _Go time._

Her heart raced as she sauntered to the closest guard, but she didn’t know whether it was from anxiety or excitement. This was it. No matter what happened next, it was all going to be over soon.

The guard’s hand was already hovering over his baton when she drew back her fist and punched him in the face as hard as she could. A sharp pain shot through her knuckles, a cut from his teeth already welling with blood. It didn’t take long; they were on her in a matter of seconds.

She grunted as a nightstick thudded against her ribs, but she knew they would leave the real punishment to _him_. Curling into a ball to protect her vulnerable abdomen, she let them have their way. She’d be sporting a few new bruises, maybe a cracked rib or two, but depending on how this all played out, that might not even matter.

Two men dragged her to his quarters, and she played the part, struggling to free her arms from their grip. He looked up as they dropped her to the floor, and once upon a time, that sadistic smile would have had her cringing in fear. Now, all she could feel was the burning desire for revenge, and the anticipation that came with knowing that that time was at hand.

As soon as he dismissed them, he crossed the room in quick strides, grasping a fistful of her hair and yanking her to her feet. “I missed this.”

He spun her around and forced her against the wall, the rough wood scraping against the fresh scars on her cheek. She tried to throw her head back but he still gripped her hair, restricting her range of movement. His laugh was smug as he ran his free hand along her hip. She willed herself to relax, one hand braced against the wall while the other crept to her pocket. He shifted behind her as he reached for the zipper of her jumpsuit and she threw her arm back as hard as she could, her elbow catching him in the ribs. He let out a grunt and took a surprised step back. She turned on her heel and followed, jabbing the syringe below his jaw and jamming the plunger down with her thumb.

He cursed, clapping a hand to his neck, eyes flashing hatred. She let out a pained gasp as his fist caught her in the face. He lunged for her, but the drug coursing through his system made the motion clumsy and she was able to twist away from his grasp. Carried by his own momentum, he met the wall with a thud and sagged against it.  She aimed a savage kick at his knee, and he fell to the floor with a groan. She kicked again, and again, this time at his stomach and as he writhed, arms clasped around his middle, she set about removing his weapons. Her lips curved into a nasty smile as she held up a familiar knife.

“I told you to kill me. You should have listened.”

He shook his head as though to clear it and sent her a lazy grin. “With one word, I could have them back in here.”

Her fingers dug into his lower jaw as she brought the knife to his face, the tip digging into the corner of his mouth until a bead of blood formed and ran down his chin. “Not without your tongue.” The blade rose to rest beneath his eye, and she tilted her head as she considered. “Or maybe the eye? Two seems...excessive, and I was looking forward to hearing you beg.”

His arrogance drained away as his face paled. “What do you want?”

“The defense override codes.”

It stunned her how quickly he caved. She’d expected obstinance from him, the need to prove that she was fully prepared to turn word into action. Instead, he’d dissolved into a sniveling mess of snot and tears at the first hint of pain.

This was the man she’d feared for so long? The one she’d practically begged to kill her? He was a coward, a pathetic waste of flesh and bone. Yet his control had been absolute.

_What did that say about her?_

The thought twisted her stomach and she had to swallow against a wave of nausea. Her pulse pounded in her ears and she could feel that faint buzz starting in her head, the cold numbness that crept along her limbs and signaled a retreat to that dark corner of her mind. She bit her tongue until blood filled her mouth, desperately focusing on the sharp flare of pain. _Not now._

The sudden, urgent trill of an alarm rang out and she jolted as the room went dark, the surge of adrenaline cutting through the fog that had settled over her thoughts. Moments later, an orange glow bathed the walls as the emergency generators kicked on.  She needed to go – she had what she came for, but still she hesitated, her eyes flicking to where he slumped on the floor. She didn’t have time for the retribution she’d envisioned, but that didn’t mean she was going to let him go.

She would never be free while he still breathed.

With a frown, she yanked his head back by his hair and drove his knife up through the soft flesh behind his chin. “I was never yours. _Never_.”

The incessant screeching of the alarms helped to drown out the hollow echo of untruth in her words, and she told herself it didn’t matter. It was over and he’d never hurt her again.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

They ran, feet splashing through the muck that filled the bottom of the tunnel. She could hear the guards in pursuit, their shouts to each other as they closed in. Someone in front of her slipped and fell with a startled cry and she stumbled in her effort to avoid them. She caught her footing just as an armored form appeared around the bend behind them. A hand reached towards her, dark eyes meeting hers, and she froze in recognition.  014.

She hesitated, torn. He was the reason any of this was even possible, but at the same time, he was aware of the risks. They all were. Another glance at the narrowing gap between her and the guards made up her mind. She turned to run, but not before she caught his grim nod of acceptance.

Even now, knowing it was done, he’d meet his fate with dignity. She envied that. He’d been exactly what she hoped for, but they didn’t need a leader anymore.

She ran until her legs ached and her lungs burned, putting as much distance between her and the others as she could. This was the final stretch, and there was no time for cooperation. The more bodies between her and the ones after them, the better. She hadn’t come this far, fought this hard, to be dragged back in chains, and if the others couldn’t muster the same determination, that was no fault of hers.

The tunnel opened into a shallow ditch ringed with cattails and reeds. Moonlight spilled across the marshy soil as she finally allowed herself a moment to catch her breath and look around. Only three had made it out with her. More than half of them were still in there somewhere, dead, or just as likely, wishing they were. How much had her own actions contributed to that number? Her chest tightened at the thought, but she didn’t have time to dwell on it. They were free, but they weren’t safe, and staying together was just inviting trouble. She chose a direction at random and started walking.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Acclimating to life outside the camp was a long process, full of frustration. She was free, but constantly afraid of losing that freedom. There was nowhere for her to go; she had no money, and no way to get what she needed to survive. It wasn’t until she met others like her, the troubled youth society had given up on, that she started to find her way. It was difficult to trust anyone, but they were just as wary of people that asked too many questions. They didn’t care about her past as long as she didn’t pry into any of theirs, and after those boundaries had been established, she had no trouble fitting in.

They taught her the skills she needed to survive on the streets and provided companionship without attachments. She learned how to hack government terminals, and then set about removing any trace of her former life. They showed her how to produce new identification documents that were indistinguishable from the real thing, and how to get past a locked door. In return, she helped them make life difficult for the authorities.

They weren’t a gang – they didn’t engage in violence – but they did provide opportunities for her to get a small measure of revenge against the people that had thrown her away and forgotten her. It was fun, for a time, but as the political climate shifted and war with China loomed on the horizon, it wasn’t a risk she could afford to keep taking. It was time to move on.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The first time she got arrested, she completely shut down, unable to cope with being locked up again. The officer in charge thought she was strung out on something and gave up trying to get anything out of her and left her alone to sleep it off. Public Intoxication wasn’t worth the department’s time or resources when people were rioting in the streets over food shortages.

It wasn’t her last arrest, and each subsequent incident got a little easier. She was just a local junkie to them, and most didn’t even bother going any further than confiscating her chems. If they did take her in, at least she got free food and a bed for the night. It still made her uncomfortable, but she’d had a look at the lock and was confident she could pick it if she needed to. Not the wisest idea, maybe, but it helped make the situation tolerable.

There was one officer who seemed to take a particular interest in her – not the way _he_ had, but a genuine concern for her well being. It was strange at first, and she was more than a little cautious, but she gradually warmed to him. For a cop, he seemed like a decent guy. She never trusted him enough to let her guard down, but if she was going to be in there anyway, it was kind of nice to have someone to talk to, even if that person was just her glorified babysitter.

He’d tried introducing himself, but she cut him off before he could finish. She didn’t want to know. Names were something people took for granted, and it always shocked her how freely they gave theirs. It had been like that for her too, once, she was sure of it. But that was before it had been taken away, and now she guarded it jealously, for reasons both practical and sentimental. She didn’t want to know his name when she had no intention of telling him hers, and not knowing had the extra benefit of keeping a comfortable distance between them.  

The last time she was arrested, he was the one that picked her up. She’d been in a bar fight, some drunk asshole that couldn’t keep his hands to himself. Now he had a broken nose, and maybe next time he’d remember.

He didn’t drive to the station like she expected, instead pulling over in the parking lot of an old diner. Immediately, she was on guard, and he noticed.

“I just want to talk,” he told her. “You give me ten minutes and you’re free to go. Promise.”

She didn’t quite believe it, but it was a small price to pay for getting out of an assault charge. “Fine. Ten minutes.”

“Good. I’ll get to the point. You’re not a bad kid, but there’s more to life than chems and bars we both know you’re not old enough to be in. You keep going this way, and you’re likely to end up on a slab in the morgue.”

She snorted at that. He didn’t know anything about her; not the things she’d done, the faces she saw in her dreams, the people she betrayed. Why did he care where she ended up? She sure as hell didn’t. “Why bother? It’s all a mess anyway.”

“Look, I’m not going to say the world doesn’t have it’s problems, but if you don’t like it, do something to change it. Getting high and going out with a can of spray paint isn’t the way to go.”

“I’ll run for office,” she quipped. “You can be my campaign manager.”

“You’re going to need more than a bad attitude to run on, wise ass. Think about what I’ve said. Change doesn’t have to be extreme to make a difference.”

“If I say I will, can I go now?”

“That was the deal,” he sighed. “Let me get the door.”

As soon as he opened the car door, she got out and tossed a pair of handcuffs to him, the same ones she’d wiggled out of while he’d been talking, just in case he went back on his promise. “You might want these back,” she said with a grin, and took off running before he had time to reply.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

She didn’t stay out of bars, but she also didn’t forget what the officer had said, despite her best efforts to at times. His words brought up memories she didn’t want to think about and left her with all sorts of painful questions. Her father had tried to take a stand and change things, and he’d died for it. In the end, that was all he’d accomplished – he hadn’t saved her from _him,_ and the only lasting effect he’d managed to bring about was to leave her utterly alone in that place.

 _He_ was her second example, and he proved that one person could absolutely make a difference, but it seemed like that kind of change was all too common. It was easy to kick someone down; she knew from experience it was much harder to help them up.

And that brought her to 014. It was because of him that she was even able to sit and think about such things. Everyone that made it out that day owed it to him, herself included. And she’d used him for all she could and then discarded him like a tool she no longer had need of. She sometimes wondered if she’d make a different choice if she had to do it all again. The answer wasn’t comforting, and if she was going to change anything at all, she needed to start with that.

She didn’t want to be the kind of person that measured another’s worth by what they could do for her. That was just like _him_. The problem was, she had only the vaguest idea of what who she actually wanted to be, and none whatsoever how to get there, or even if it was possible to just decide something like that. Maybe people are who they are, and there was nothing they could do about it. Maybe...maybe there was some inherent flaw that she’d never be able to overcome.

There was something wrong with her head; she knew that. That savage streak just waiting to be let loose wasn’t normal. If people had to kill, they didn’t _enjoy_ it – not like she had, when her only regret had been that it was over too fast. Getting a kick out of that sort of thing was what _he_ did.

She didn’t let herself think about it again for a long time after that.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The first time she saw him, he was out with friends. It was early in the evening, so the bar wasn’t too crowded yet. She looked up out of habit when he came in, ever vigilant of her surroundings, and he met her eyes from across the room and smiled. Unsure how to respond, she ducked her head, suddenly absorbed in the dark rings of moisture that shone on the surface of her little table.

He took the hint and left her alone that night, but she saw him a couple more times over the next several days, always with a group, and always with a smile for her. She never smiled back -the muscles in her face didn’t move right anymore, the tissue twisting and pulling until the expression warped into something hideous – but she did offer a cautious nod of acknowledgment. He had a nice smile, she decided. Warm and friendly.

Later on, she learned his name. She was at the counter, waiting to get the attention of the bar tender so she could pay her bill and leave when a tall figure entered her peripheral vision. Taking a step back, she sent what she meant to be a glare of warning, but her wide eyes as she saw who it was ruined the effect.    His features lit with recognition as he glanced down at her and his mouth curved in greeting. “I’m Nate.”

Her eyes darted between his face and the hand he offered until his smile began to fade and he started to pull back. She grasped his hand in hers before it could fall at his side and gave it a quick shake. “...Mei.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

She had no way of knowing how much that introduction would change her life. She didn’t often allow others to get close, but Nate’s name was near the top of a very short list. It didn’t happen right away, but he was patient; gently coaxing, but always ready to take a step back if she wanted space. Over time, that happened less and less.

He made her laugh, and it had been such a long time since she’d found anything worth smiling over. She opened up to him as much as she was able, told him things no one else knew, but even then, she kept a part of herself hidden. It was safer that way for both of them. If he sensed how much she held back he never remarked on it, and for that, he earned her gratitude.

His proposal came a couple years later, and it took her by surprise. Her first instinct had been to run as far away as possible, but she forced herself to think it through. She didn’t know if she loved him like he claimed to love her, or even if she was capable of that kind of sentiment, but he stirred feelings in her no one else had. Maybe that was love – she had no way of knowing for sure, but then again, how did anyone know for sure? At the very least, it seemed like enough, so she told him yes.

He promised safety and security, a normal life, and she wanted that more than anything, but there was always a price. She’d been foolish to think this would be any different.

Nate’s parents didn’t like her. She tried her best to please them, but she always fell short of their expectations. She couldn’t cook, she had no interest in keeping a house or entertaining, and children were the furthest thing from her mind. They didn’t approve of the way she dressed, or her casual use of course language, and constantly nagged at their son to find a proper young woman.

It came to a head the day his mother referred to her as ‘communist trash’. Nate wasn’t home, and it was all she could do to restrain herself from striking the older woman. She fled the small apartment, shaking with rage as hot tears leaked from her eyes and muttered curses tumbled from her lips. It didn’t help.

Nate found her later that night at their old haunt. He apologized, but she didn’t want to hear it. Not from him, She almost called it all off right then and there, but pure spite stopped her. She was going to marry Nate, and anyone that didn’t like it could choke on it.

A few months later, they were married and she was officially Mrs. Nate Alton. She resented giving up her identity yet again, but she tried to take comfort in the distance it put between her and that girl from the camp. It was just another fork in the trail for anyone that might be looking.

His parents bought them a little house in Sanctuary Hills. A wedding gift, they said, and an apology. It didn’t take long for the novelty to wear off. To her, that house was just another prison. Gilded, perhaps, but it came with it’s own set of restrictions to chafe under. Nate tried to help her adjust. He got her a Mr. Handy to help around the house. She started calling the robot Codsworth as a joke on his accent, but the name ended up sticking. It was strange having someone else do the chores she was supposed to know how to do herself, but she grew to appreciate Codsworth’s company. Especially when Nate enlisted.

The world seemed to fall out from under her when he told her he was joining the military. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t _breathe_ past the seething betrayal that twisted her insides. He knew! She’d told him all about the prison and her time there, and now he was joining the same entity that had placed her there. He tried to tell her was doing it for her, to keep her safe, but she wouldn’t hear it.

She refused to see him off like all the other wives. Instead, she locked herself in their bedroom with a bottle of whiskey and stared at her wedding band, wondering when she’d started seeing the thin gold circle as just another set of chains.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Nate wrote to her, but it was months before she ever wrote back, and even then, her replies were curt. She wanted a life of her own, something separate from him, but aside from that vague descriptor, she had no real idea what else that should include. A routine trip to the market gave her the answer she needed.

A sign hung in the window of the little store, but it wasn’t the ‘Help Wanted’ in large block letters that drew her eye. It was the caveat beneath, in small but bold print that proclaimed ‘foreigners need not apply.’ The borders had closed just a few months after her own arrival in the States, but all those years had done nothing to erase the stigma associated with being born outside the country. They were urged to become productive members of society, but how was that possible when immigrants were denied the means to secure the basic necessities of life?

_If you don’t like it, do something to change it._

The words echoed in her mind the entire way home, and again when she enrolled at the university. The law was a broken system that harmed the very people it should have been protecting. She’d known that of course, intimately, but she’d never before had a way to fight it. Life had shown her that any system could be exploited once one learned how it worked, so she would learn the law. The irony of turning their own weapon against them was just a bonus.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Nate returned from his first tour, but they barely had time to get to know one another again before the war with China began in earnest and he was shipped to Anchorage. She watched him go this time, but it was like waving goodbye to a stranger. Whatever was once between them had withered from neglect, and neither seemed to have the time or inclination to try and revive it.

She finished her degree and passed her bar examination with flying colors. Nate took a bullet that left him with a permanent limp and returned home, sullen and withdrawn now that the army had no further use for him. They fought constantly as she tried to establish her practice. She’d chosen civil law as her area of expertise, and most of her clients could not afford to pay upfront for representation. Sometimes she won their case and got paid out of their settlement, sometimes she lost and both she and her client went home with nothing. Nate didn’t like her working for free, but she didn’t care about the money. She wasn’t a good person, but she was finally becoming someone she could live with, and that was all that mattered to her.

It took explaining that over and over again, but eventually he seemed to understand and they began the first tentative steps toward reconciliation. Nate was once the closest thing she’d ever had to a friend, and despite all that had happened between them, she missed him.

The night at the park was an attempt to go back to the way things were, to reclaim the days when all that mattered was the two of them. They’d had a bit too much to drink, but it was a relief to be able to just enjoy each others’ company without all the petty squabbles that seemed to erupt whenever they spent more than ten minutes in the same room. The park was empty when they spread a blanket over the damp grass and watched the stars come out in the dark sky overhead. She couldn’t recall who initiated the kiss when their lips met, but that night was one of her favorite memories.

Three months later, she found out she was pregnant.

Her first reaction had been pure panic. Codsworth was probably the only reason she hadn’t accidentally -  or not - burnt their house down. How the hell was she supposed to look after an infant? Nate was ecstatic, as were his parents. Their neighbors, random people on the street, even Codsworth, all showed more enthusiasm for her impending motherhood than she did. It was another sign that something was off about her, but she couldn’t muster the energy to care. She was already playing a role; what was one more?

The first time she cradled Shaun in her arms, she knew she’d been wrong. The feeling that swelled in her chest, soft but fierce, was too intense to be an act, no matter how good she’d gotten at fooling herself. She would do anything for that tiny person. She would kill, she would maim, she would willingly offer herself to any torment hell could throw at her if it meant he would be spared. She would _try_.

Shaun deserved better than her, but she was what he had. She’d spend the rest of her life trying to be someone worthy of that innocence.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The months following Shaun’s birth were difficult as the euphoria faded and one sleepless night bled into the next. She and Nate hardly spoke to one another, lest their short tempers get the better of them, and she hated to think of what the house would have looked like without Codsworth. There were days when she considered just getting out of bed a success and she was too exhausted to feel guilty over letting the robot handle the dishes and endless piles of laundry.

She tried to spend time with her baby. She fed him and rocked him, read to him, and played - all those little things good mothers did for their children, but she couldn’t stop the tears from running down her cheeks as she saw her actions for the lie they were. Good mothers didn’t feel numb when they looked at their child.

She tried to recall that bright, warm feeling from the first time she held him. It was still in there somewhere, visible, but out of reach, as though it had been locked away behind a pane of glass. The harder she tried, the more distant it became. It hurt to add another failure to an ever-growing list, but it wasn’t long before the creeping numbness dulled that ache, too.

Things got a little better once Shaun developed something of a schedule. The fog lifted just enough that she dared hope for the day it would pass entirely. It didn’t, but it thinned enough that she could go back to pretending. Nate seemed pleased with her progress, so she kept up the illusion; she’d given up on expecting anything more.

That morning started like any other. Nate chatted about his plans for the day while they got dressed together and then she went to feed Shaun. She even managed to be pleasant to the salesman from Vault Tech after he stopped by for the third time that week and ruined all her efforts to ignore him by standing forlornly on the porch and refusing to leave until she opened the door.

Mere minutes after signing up for a spot in the local vault, sirens were wailing and the anchorman on the news was warning of immanent nuclear attack. She stared at Nate in stunned silence, waiting for the moment when he would tell her that this was all a perverse joke. Instead, he held Shaun against his chest and grabbed her arm, pulling her to the door.

“We have to get to the vault!”

It was real, then. The assholes up top had finally gotten up the nerve to make a move and now they were all going to burn.

Her head spun in a daze as her feet moved automatically to keep up with him. Up the hill, through the gates and past a sea of panicked faces, biting her lip against the bubble of hysterical laughter that threatened to break free.

_They’d finally done it._

There was a blinding flash as she stepped onto the circular platform, and once her vision returned, she could see a column of flame rising into the clouds. It expanded into a wave that rushed toward them, ripping through trees and buildings like so much paper. A longing so profound it ached unfurled in her chest, her thoughts darting through her mind like frightened fish.

Shaun would be fine. Nate would be a better parent than she could ever be. All she had to do was meet that rushing wave and everything would be fine.

_It would all be over._

She took a step forward. Nate yanked her back by her arm and she stumbled as the platform jerked and began its descent. The shockwave ruffled her hair as she turned her head from a shower of dirt and debris, but the vault doors sealed just in time. She was safe.

There was no time to process the surge of disappointment at that realization as Vault Tech employees herded them down the long, narrow halls. She stripped and changed into the ugly blue suit they gave her with mechanical movements and kissed Shaun on his downy head, willing herself to feel _something_ as they directed her to decontamination chamber. As the chamber sealed, she stared with blank eyes as an employee helped Nate into his own pod and then closed the hatch on her husband and her son.

By the time she noticed the cold, it was too late. She choked as the pod filled with thick, chemical fog, her heart pounding in terror as she realized this was all wrong. Her vision flared white like a dying star, and then there was nothing.

Panic still thrummed in her veins when her eyes fluttered open. She could hear voices outside, and strained to make out what they were saying. Her hands beat clumsily against the glass as she tried to get their attention, and then with desperate precision as she watched a man and a woman in a strange suit open Nate’s chamber. Shaun’s shrill wail split the air, and every instinct she had responded in kind.

Her fingernails ripped and bled as she tried to claw her way out. The woman struggled to take Shaun from Nate’s arms, and she banged her fist against the window until her knuckles split and spattered the glass with red as the man raised a gun and pointed it at Nate.

A single shot rang out and Nate fell back. She screamed for him to get up, to take back their baby, but he didn’t move. Just like her father.

The woman in the suit hurried away as she tried to soothe Shaun’s frightened cries. She screamed useless threats after her and then her eyes shifted to the man as he stopped in front of her.

“At least we still got the back up.”

The words were just noise in the background as she memorized every one of his features. She wanted to remember his face, and she wanted him to remember hers. If he ever had the misfortune of meeting her again, she’d make sure it was the last thing he ever saw.

Her limbs stiffened as the cold returned and her vision went dark once more.

When she next awoke, she was alone. She fumbled with the release to Nate’s chamber and stepped back as the hatch swung open with a hiss. He was dead, the small, neat hole in his chest only confirming what she already knew, but she had to see it with her own eyes to be sure. She left him there. He deserved better, but when had she ever been able to give him enough?

The skeletons laying about the vault were her first clue that something was terribly wrong, and the next came in roaches the size of house cats, but she pushed all of that aside in favor of finding a way to the surface.

In her half-hearted search for supplies, she came across a pistol and several boxes of ammunition, but she didn’t bother with taking them. She’d never been fond of guns. Instead, she settled for a baton until she could get back to her house. If she had to have a weapon, she preferred her knife.

Her eyes watered as the vault door opened and sunlight streamed in, stabbing through her lids even after she’d squeezed them shut. When she could see again, the sight that greeted her was so different from what she remembered that she wasn’t fully convinced it wasn’t some sort of dream. Maybe she was still sleeping beneath the ground and only thought she made it out.

She bit her lip until she tasted blood, and only then did she believe what her eyes were telling her. It took some getting used to, but it wasn’t as distressing as she would have imagined. People were always trying to cover up the corruption in the world, as if they could just go over it in bright colors and it would cease to exist. Now, the layer of paint had been peeled away, and it looked more like she thought it should.

For the first time, the world was starting to make sense.  


End file.
